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So, ages ago, I had this idea for a comic series, or perhaps a tv show, called the Realm. A very abstract, dark comedy kind of thing filled with odd other-dimensional creatures. It was unfinished and unpolished, and though I had character ideas they didn't knit together, and back then my writing skills weren't as good and my art even worse. But now I find myself working on it, art and note wise, writing down my ideas and its kinda 'clicked' and came together. I even came up with a pretty good plot twist and reason for certain things happening.

Thing art is limited. Like, I'm good at certain things, but in other areas I can't manage. Perspective, close up, detail; my hand gets shaky on the pen so I have to do quick strokes. I can't do landscapes and whatnot. I've tried to improve, slowly drawn an image with the thing right in front of me, but something in my brain just messes up. So a comic is a big stretch. Writing-wise, I could probably manage - but this is a very visual thing and writing it won't cut it for some of the characters. And there's certainly no way I'd be able to pitch a Tv show.

I don't know, maybe my art well get better with practice, but its hard to practice when you can't seem to manage some things at all.

Or, the ran about how What-If-Writer's brain hates itself.

Chamberlain Doesn't Approve by SkekLa

Without your pants by PsychoAngel51402




Land before time stamp by Sony-ShockStamp: Bravestarr by Gatekat Cragmite OC Support by WolfzenStamp - Dallas and Juanita by Lurking-LeanneAzuri OC Support by WolfzenAaaahhh What by MiharuWatanabeI love ReBoot by thebadkitty<da:thumb id="256955031"/>

Dr. N. Tropy Stamp by xSweetSlayerxSly 4 stamp~ The Ancestors by SeeraphineClassic Spyro Stamp by RadSpyroSandy Fan Stamp by shadyGIFsN.Brio Stamp by angelbloodRise of the Guardians stamp by zodiacgalPitch Black Stamp by Van-helsa124
Ice Age Stamp by MajinPatBunnymund Fan Stamp by shadyGIFs
Buck- Ice Age 3 stamp by Kewlink



Lifeforce Chapter 85

"They have learned that resistance is actually possible. The holds are beginning to slip away." - George Jackson

Knows No Bounds

Ratchet and Talwyn were gawking.

Their jaws hung so far open he could've seen their teeth, and noted that after weeks of villain chasing and imminent turmoil, they could use a good floss. "...Heh." Skeet laughed, weakly. One hand, on the good arm, lifted to rub the back of his neck.

"What?" Ratchet stammered, his voice raising a dangerous octave higher, "How could you have built the casting around the artefact if you came from –"

Skeet didn't blink, staring back at him with a blank, almost expectant expression that bordered on deadpan. But legitimate deadpan was too much of a risk when you were a prisoner, so. Ratchet's words turned to air on his lips. "...You aren't from the other dimension. So then how did you..."

"Courteously of low temperatures and a crazy orange maniac." Skeet replied, stoutly. Clank blinked, optics whirling loudly to indicate his alarm,

"So that is how – you too, were frozen. And by your description, I take it 'Orange' unfroze you? Then he must have known that you had a part in the trapping of the Lifeforce!"

"Frozen...Like Tachyon?" Talwyn's voice hardened. Skeet turned his head away, eyes falling on the wall.

"No comment."

Ratchet would have liked to say that he couldn't wrap his head around this, but after everything they'd been through, things like this were becoming disturbingly believable. Frozen. That explained the difference in them entirely. But if they were frozen like Tachyon then –

"'re from the Great War."

Skeet's eyes slid reluctantly back to face him. He didn't reply, but his look said enough. Ratchet was lost for words. An actual cragmite from the Great War. They'd seen it. Heck, they'd been in it. "You actually fought in it?"

Skeet scoffed, some weird mixture of a hazy laugh and a snort. "H-heh, not me. Cripples aren't exactly front line material. You want a veteran, go talk to Skii or Wilt."

"That explains why his brother and friend are far more durable. They have experience in warfare – and fighting lombaxes." Clank surmised, turning to Ratchet with an inquisitive lift of the hand. Ratchet frowned. Oh. Yeah. His glare wasn't missed by smallish hunter, as he frowned back at him defensively.

"Don't worry. Your ancestors packed a punch, too." The bitterness wasn't lost on him. Ratchet's fists curled, and he tried to negotiate with his ready-to-rise temper. They didn't have time to defend legacies here.

"So you built the metal casting, and did a pretty damn job – because you know whatever's inside is dangerous."

Skeet nodded, almost suspiciously, as if to say 'where are you going with this?'

"Which means if Tachyon finds out..." Ratchet stopped. Holy cow. They had the key to appeasing their Emperor's entire goal, their whole species' goal, and they were hiding it. That was...

"The Emperor cannot find out, for all out sakes." Skeet said, with surprising sharpness, "So scratch that from the 'blackmail' book! You have no idea – he won't listen to anything we have to say. He'll want it opened, consequences be damned."

"You seem to have a lot of experiences with such matters." Clank said, before Ratchet could. The little robot moved forward again with a decisive step. "I admire your courage. We appreciate –" Talwyn scowled – "The risk you are taking to protect the universe, but simply ignoring the problem will not solve it any longer. The cat is mostly out of the bag, if you will."

"Don't I know it, I just snipped some of the strings myself." Skeet said, grinning tiredly and looking away. Smiling seemed to be more of a nervous tick with him rather than an expression of amusement.

"Then tell me everything you know about it, how to stop it." Ratchet said. "Please."

He hadn't meant to say please. Really, he hadn't – force of habit. And the galaxy's deadline. Skeet ogled at him,

"It can't be...'stopped'. I'm sorry, but – the thing in there – it's beyond organic understanding."

Clank's eyes widened.

"It can't be stopped, only contained." Skeet looked away again. Ratchet's ears flopped and he stared at the ceiling, frustration bubbling inside his head. Darn it, why couldn't he get a clear answer -?

"Beyond organic understanding." Clank was smiling, in fact he was leaning forward on his heels as if – Ratchet's ears lifted again – as if he'd thought of something. "I have some experience with such things – if it cannot be destroyed or defeated, then it can be managed."

"...I don't think so." Skeet said.

"I think so." Clank beamed.

"Hang on, Clank, what do you mean...?" Ratchet knelt down, lifted an arm to turn his friend away from the cragmite a little, and lowered his voice. Clank smiled rather smugly, that face would make a great image for the S.A.C Series.

"The Zoni found a way to channel time, Ratchet. The Lifeforce can be managed in the same way with the proper means, and we are living in a generation of geniuses, including yourself – and the very cragmite who managed to imprison it."

"...Like the Great Clock." Ratchet muttered. Long shot, but...but he could see where he was going with it. "But the lifeforce isn't time; we don't even understand how it works..."

Clank pointed at the disc on his shoulder. "We have a small sample to work with – without opening the case." He raised his voice, pointedly, and Skeet lifted his incredulously head.



As Talwyn approached, she saw that - Dinkles was sitting up on Percival's shoulder. (She didn't know him or his family well enough to begin calling him 'Percy' – whatever bad taste the former name left on her tongue...) The little cat lifted an arm, as if to gesture at their surroundings, wearing an oddly inquisitive expression. Seeing such a look on a cat of all things made her slightly uncomfortable, given his...history. She shook it off. She could deal with discomfort. Dinkles saw her approaching first and nudged the side of the purple lombax's head.

The lombax glanced at her.

And made no attempt to greet her. Well fine. "We've been talking to the cragmites. Turns out those guys built the casing around the artefact."

The purple lombax's brows flew up, and he and Dinkles shared an incredulous and ever silent look until, finally, Purple Guy opened his mouth. "Seriously? There's a plot twist." He smirked, lightly, and the cat rolled his eyes. Talwyn cleared her throat to recapture their attention.

"Which means we're beginning to figure out some way to manage this...lifeforce?" Talwyn hefted a hand onto her hip, smiling pleasantly, "And that's where you come in, lazybones."

The purple man stared at her blankly. Dinkles, if her ears didn't deceive her, was forcing down a snicker.

Moments later, the two were standing at the war table in the middle of the camp, surrounding on either side by Clank, Ratchet, the tharpods on their right, Qwark of all people, those two knuckle headed robots and the archaeologists. Quietly, Frumpus reached over to pet Dinkles' head before the de-facto meeting began.

"Alright, here's what we're aiming to get back, obviously." A small hologram popped up on the table; the artefact, of course. "Clank made a breakthrough with the cragmite downstairs as to who built it and why. Which means he knows how to contain it."

"Since the Lifeforce cannot be destroyed, and it certainly cannot be hidden forever," Clank began, now actually standing on the table surface for added effect, "We need to manage it, as the Great Clock did for Time."

"The Great Clock was built by energy-based beings with extended life-spans..." Frumpus noted, waving a hand in the air. All eyes shifted to him. "We simply don't have the – heh, time, to come up with something like that!"

"It doesn't need to be perfect." Ratchet was speaking now, quickly, to get his two scents in before everyone started babbling, "Just enough to get the job done and counter it if Tachyon decides to use it on us."

"Can he do that?" Zephyr murmured, mostly to himself and Cronk. Percy smirked.

"Why do you think all this has been happening?"

The robot sent him a huffy look, but Talwyn quickly cut off any argument in the brewing. "Right. So, with the little samples of lifeforce we do have, we can figure out some way to defend ourselves if Tachyon does manage to open the artefact. Which buys us time."

"If he opens it. Speaking of, we need to get that back." Percy drawled, scratching at his neck. Dinkles nodded, tongue in cheek. Talwyn frowned at him, fully prepared to point out that his rescue had stolen priority over that and he could be more helpful, but she decided against it.

"One thing at a time. Judging by what those guys downstairs were saying, Tachyon's gonna be chasin' his tail for a while." Ratchet grinned, jabbing a thumb in the direction of the cellblock stairs. Percy actually smirked back at him, a little.

Tenahee, who had remained utterly silent until now, crossed her arms over her chest. "...So we build some kind of machine with the tharpods, the cragmites, and the samples we have. But what do we do with the actual artefact once we get it back? Managing it is all very well, but should we even open it in the first place? The machine should be a back-up, a last resort."


Clank was thinking hard. "...We'd need to know more on the subject, really. Perhaps this is the time to consort Ickabar's book more thoroughly." He beamed at the idea.

"Sonny, we ain't got time to study!"

"Worth a shot." Ratchet muttered, "Though judging by the recall letters, he didn't have all the facts when he sent it out. That is, he didn't realise what was causing the mortal peril."

Dinkles elbowed Percy's ear, though it was more of a prod than a hit. His brow furrowed. "So what about the Loki? He'll probably figure out the lifeforce, being from Toranux and all – we can't count of Tachyon staying clueless forever. So – split up mission?"

Ratchet eyed the little squirrel-like creature on his shoulder, and wondered – where had Trisby gone?

"Pretty much...where's Trisby?"

"Checking up on the cragmites, apparently." Talwyn said. She didn't sound pleased. Ratchet's lip quirked.

"Heh, maybe her sarcasm will drive them to talk more."

Clank failed very badly at trying not to chuckle.

Dinkles turned his head away, and grimaced.


Clunk. Clunk. Clunk.

The factory was brimming. Belts, gears, pipes, spinning plates. All rotating and clinking loudly for the world to hear. All automatic. There wasn't anyone else about. Skii wandered through the aisles, quietly eyeing the construction, though none of the pieces being melded before his eyes were in any way familiar.

Several gears rattled as he passed by, towards the overhanging office. On the other side lay the factory district where he'd been cornered by the...thing. Between them both, Bagogg. He scaled the ramp, up, left, up, diagonal accent. He kept peering behind him. Where was everyone? As silent as a mouse, he entered the office. The door was open.

Someone had been busy. The tables were swamped with blueprints, star maps, with pins stabbing into various locations. Holo-screens on the walls, decrypting Skii hadn't a clue of. Skii didn't know why, but something didn't sit right with him about this. Bagogg wasn't...shady. If he was doing anything, the Emperor had to know about it, right?

His brow furrowed, and he veered his head. The far wall was framed by another holo-screen. No, a projector. Transmitting an image.

He drew closer.

Correction. Various, blurred, little images, side-by side like the reel of a camera. He squinted, close, hand leaning on the rock behind the projection –

He saw plants. Then trees. Odd, purple and blue ovals dotting the branches, but soil and sky not unlike Reepor's. Then he saw text transmissions, explaining a crash. An unexplored, off limits planet. Toranux.

Once he started looking, he couldn't stop.

Purple creatures, bigger than anything they'd ever seen.

Smaller blue ones, that would vanish like wisps whenever he spotted them. Plans. Years on the surface. Leaving the planet.

Building the weapon.

A perfect test candidate.

He saw it in his head, foggy things going clear in the cold. Screaming, fright, anger. Thousands upon thousands –

- Billions dead –

In a minute.

His hand slipped down the wall, scraping, just an inch. He moved his head, stiffly, earfins picking up – someone was behind him, and the shadow on the wall beside him, he knew it all too well.

"I was provoked in the end. Overkill, maybe, but you didn't see what they were." Casual, almost joking. Usual Bagogg. Skii turned to look at him, feeling drained.

"...A whole planet? Bagogg." Had he ever sounded this breathless? He felt like he'd been punched after surviving a fever. "This is beyond power, or war, or control, this is...this..."

Planets were destroyed all the time...or at least you heard about uninhabited rocks millions of parsecs away being swallowed by their own sun, but this, caused by a freaking GUN. That they built...

Bagogg drew beside him, scowling faintly at the blurry images dotted along the projection. "They were called the Loki. Arrogant purple whacks. When I crash landed there, they kept pestering me. Tried to kill me at every turn." He strode away, slowly, hands combing to curl behind his back. He shrugged offhandedly. "They brought it on themselves, in the end."

Skii's hand fell away from the wall. "...You've changed, Bagogg."

Idiot, he could almost hear Wilt's dratted voice in his head, keep your face clear, at least wear a mask. But Bagogg was his friend. Once. Less so that Wilt, but still. He straightened up the best he could. The thickness in his voice wouldn't leave. "...Why would you do this? This didn't need to happen."

"If we only lived for what we needed, Skii." Bagogg turned his head, smirking lightly, and in the dark and so level it made Skii's skin crawl, "Then we'd be no smarter than ants. This will break the stalemate."

"You said the Loki attacked you –"

Pale blue.

"Then what about the other species there?"

"Two for one. It isn't like other races haven't been caught in the crossfire, before, Skii." It didn't bother him at all. Skii looked down.

And it shouldn't bother ME. Not in this way. But in a pragmatic sense... "This way, there won't BE any other races left. is that ruling?"

Bagogg's casual look finally faltered. His eyes narrowed just a little. "You've always been a...arbiter of doing things correctly, my friend. But sometimes a little thinking out of the box helps the cause." His scowl deepened.

"And speaking of out of the box...your reaction to this is..."

Skii scowled violently.

"This is way overboard. You've done all of this because – because you..." Skii turned his head away, flexing and curling his fingers, trying to stay calm but failing miserably. He might as well hold air with his hands. Bagogg reached out a hand, face set in a reproachful frown but the assassin shook his head and drew away. With a pointed stare, he turned his back and began striding away. His spine tickled, his headfins stood, as if part of him was sure the other cragmite would try to hit him from behind...

But he didn't. Instead he felt his old friend's eyes burning on the back of his neck all the way to the factory exit.


Everything was in preparation. Or at least, in the early stages of preparation. Clank was wandering quietly into the ruins of the city, though whatever had spurned the urge escaped him. But, after many instances with the Zoni, he'd learned to trust his instincts by now. Ratchet was tweaking his gadgets a little for whatever mission they'd be speeding off to next, so he'd left him to focus on that. The city was indeed a sad sight, and the quiet could nibble away at even the calmest souls. Clank peered around. He wondered – if the Zoni, energy based beings, and the Thora, similar but atmospheric based beings, had the same mentalities. Perhaps he ought to give Sigmund a call.

He heard a chirp. The little robot pivoted his body, legs sealed in place but boxy frame rotating to the left. A fountain lay nearby, drowned more in rubble than water, but a family of aqua-ducks, green aquatic birds usually found in ponds, had taken up residence there anyway. Several ducklings were swaying around the shallow water. It was a peaceful sight. Clank smiled.

And then he froze.

He'd been so still, he'd almost blended into the background. There, amidst the debris and standing by the small fountain, was the giant cragmite. He towered as tall as Tachyon's throne and almost as broad, with fan-like fins on his head and a broad mouth. Broad everything, really, a muddle of fat and muscle, but no ways unhealthy. Clank remained still. Had he been noticed?

The large cragmite was peering at the ducklings, sitting down – the fact he appeared so large while sitting was even more boggling. Clank could have easily been mistaken for one of those tiny toys you find in chocolate eggs to him. He was staring at the little birds in...Utmost confused.

Clank thought for a moment. Then he drew near. The cragmite's eyes swerved to him, slowly, then back to the birds. He made no move to attack him, brow furrowing.

"...I suppose such creatures would be confusing to someone from Reepor..." Clank began pleasantly. The warrior said nothing. Clank tilted his head.

"...I am Clank."

"...My name is Clogg." The giant murmured, throatily, well rehearsed. He reached out, as if to touch one of the birds, frowning in bewilderment. Clank lifted a hand –


"These are like my nephew."

He'd said it so suddenly, though practiced, as if he'd been mulling over this for a long while. Clank regarded him silently, slowly sussing something out. He smiled, "...I see. That is reassuring." Nephew? The little one?

"Small and squeaky." The giant elaborated. One of the birds hopped onto his hand, and he made no move to shake it away. Probably used to something tiny climbing on his arms. "And...since I wouldn't squish my nephew, I shouldn't squish these."

Clank couldn't stop himself smiling now. He tilted his head. "That is good logic to have."

Clogg let the bird hop off his fist and drew his hand away, frowning thoughtfully. "...You took Wilt and Skeet."

"I can lead you to them. They are being treated fairly." Clank assured him. Was this really the cragmite that had shot them out of the air? Clogg didn't look at him. His eyes narrowed. In a slow but steady sweep, he was on his feet, the ground crackling beneath his weight. Clank stepped away, gaze unwavering. The giant shook his head.

"That's not the plan. My plan is to find Phobose."

"Your nephew?"

"Then I will find Skeet and Wilt. Skii will find us."

He began moving away, heavy steps thundering through the ground. Clank let him go. If anyone could find 'Phobose', it was him, and he had a feeling Clogg wouldn't be going far anytime soon.

In all respects, falling onto the floor isn’t the most painful thing to endure. Or at least, that’s what people who aren’t prone to hitting the ground say. No, falling backwards and hitting your spine against solid rock was about as potent as any punch; the air was tossed from your lungs, your body jars like a struck gong, and for a few moments you’re left to suffer in rigid aftershock until you can drag another breath into your lungs.

A small figure hit the floor, and the Skeksis Throne Room burst into cackling applause. The three suns watched the castle, where weeks ago, barely a month and a half, the Crystal had lived again, and brought four new people into existence.

One of which, unwelcome, had hit the floor, losing an accidently instigated battle.

Suffice to say, SkekSept was very used to this feeling by now. The throne room around him was just a blur of faded maroon, the faint scent of sulphur and the hazy figures jeering around him. Fist were up and shaking, not from fear or fury, but triumph. In his hands lay the sword, burning against his aching fingers, but he could barely drag himself up let alone the weapon. With a gasping breath he saw the Garthim Master step forward, his shadow looming over, and his breath caught in his windpipe. Something he was also getting used to.

The end of the General Sword was jabbed just beneath his beak, against his chest, just slightly digging in, “Any last words, whelp?!”

SkekSept’s eyes swerved, instantly, to someone else. Behind the circle of jeering Skeksis making up the audience, tangled in a chain or two and left to listen in hazy confusion, lay an UrRu, knelt quietly and mostly still. They’d forgotten about him, as they usually did, but at the General’s words his head jerked around to face them. His long mouth parted. “...!”

SkekSept’s beak fell open, but words failed him. His heart strung, on its own accord, and maybe somewhere, someplace else, someone calling themselves UrOnze opened their eyes wider than they ever had in their short existence and wondered with him:

 -Am I going to -?!


A shrill voice cut through the air, startling all, and the already confusing world SkekSept had come to know instantly became even more befuddling. He hadn’t seen this one before. He’d seen them all, one by one after his birth and their lying-low around the castle, jumping from hidey-hole to hidey-hole; he’d never seen this one. He saw a mane of long, rather neat chestnut hair and pale skin, raspberry-coloured robes and the hands –

One finger was wrong, not like the others, as the hand it sat on rose with the other, outstretched, blocking the General’s way.

“Wait!” They were shrieking. The garthim master’s eyes bulged, a spark flew through them, an indication to the inner thought that he could probably cut through both of them –

SkekSept jolted, he threw up his arms and –

Something, two things, encased him. He smelled ink, parchment, soft clothing worn by years of work. Sleeves bundling around him and...


It was warm. For a moment, the strange...familiar sensation made the panic seep away, but then it was too much, familiar, yes, but it didn’t make sense. He didn’t know why it was familiar, and he hated being touched. The elder had scooped him up, almost, but they didn’t hold him tight. SkekUng sneered – but instead of striking them he brought down his blade on the floor directly beside them, embedding it into the rock with an echoing clang.

He gave a sharp gasp and he drew away – and to his surprise, the elder let him go. That was a first.

The odd elder turned away; wearing an odd expression he couldn’t decipher, to face the others once again. They held up a hand, again, like a frazzled keeper trying to ward off a pack of hungry dogs.

“I will – I could take them, Sire,” They breathed, only slightly less panic-stricken than SkekSept himself, “There are things that can be learned – let me take charge of them! This is an opportunity we have not seen for thousands of years! I will take responsibility for them!”

They were speaking quickly, in slightly higher voice that the others, their eyes focused on the leading one, the one with the pretty stick glaring at them from the throne. Emperor, they’d called him.

“Illustrator...” The Emperor said through his teeth –

SkekUng seized the new one by the shoulder, and their eyes practically popped with fright –

 “She is not part of the battle, General, you cannot harm the illustrator.” The loud one had stopped in his tracks, wearing by far the most irritated, annoyed, and deadpan glare he’d ever conjured up onto his wrinkled beak.

He growled, slowly, under his breath and shoved the smaller skeksis back. ‘She’ – what an odd term – stumbled away, rather comically, but gave a small huff before turning towards him. SkekSept, like a deer caught in the lamp light and scuttled back. The funny elder jumped a little, hands rising in what they probably hoped was a placating gesture, “No, no, its fine! I won’t –“

“He entered a dual, Illustrator, you cannot interfere.” SkekSo was sneering. SkekLa helped up a gleaming finger,

“Ah – but, sire, he did not agree and is not yet ah, integrated into our ranks yet, so this ceremonial...dual...wouldn’t be legit!”

SkekSept hadn’t a clue what she said, but there was a whisking of heads, the one wearing the various sets of glasses looked away and dragged a hand over his eyes in a grimace. The mewling one was smirking openly, looking far from humble. SkekSo’s eye twitched.

SkekZok was muttering to him, lowly, as SkekOk tried to appear he hadn’t heard the illustrator’s very loud, and very accurate, notion. The others were murmuring. SkekUng growled, lowly - but SkekLa took this small moment of uncertainty to push her case forward.  “This is an opportunity – there are so little of us left, and we cannot run this realm without aid of our own! Let me take charge of him, so he will have no reason to be against us!”

SkekSept’s eyes flickered back and forth between each speaking party, barely following along.

“I will not risk it. His mind is blank parchment, empty, he could grow into anything, and I shall not tempt our fate with a saboteur!” SkekSo growled, drumming his free hand along the golden arm of the throne. SkekLa smiled, though it was more wobbly than genuine,

“But lose any chance for b-benefit, my liege? Give it a chance – we shall watch, and study, not a moment will he be left alone – and if he becomes what you say...”

SkekSo’s eyes narrowed. “...”

The chamber was silent. SkekSept could have sworn he could hear all of their heartbeats, or maybe it was just his own, pounding loud and deafening as a pulse in his ears.

“...Very well, illustrator.” The latter in question, who had been cringing in expectation of a scathing refusal, beamed in surprise. SkekSo’s eyes focused on the SkekSept, and he grimaced, still sprawled out on the floor. “The waif lives. If he proves of use – and this is just probation, a trial – then perhaps he can be considered worthy enough to live in our service. But if he so much as blinks in a way I don’t like, I’ll feed him to the Crystal Bats myself. And you will also face consequences.”

Several beaks fell open, several exchanged befuddled looks, SkekUng looked positively murderous. SkekSil hummed delightedly. Most of the others didn’t seem to know what to do – any outcome was unsavoury to them. The ornamentalist especially, and SkekAyuk, were peering at the little thing in disdain. The idea that he could ever –

“Thank you, sire.” SkekLa said, half-bowed, her voice far more subdued, “You will not be disappointed.”

She turned, and reached for him. His first instinct was to flinch away, arm up as if to block a blow. SkekLa blinked; apparently she hadn’t thought this through. Then, behind her, and behind them all, the UrRu shifted – his chains clanked loudly and thus reminded the bunch that he was, in fact, present. Several of the skeksis reeled to face him in alarm.

SkekSept stared into the UrRu’s head silently. He was tilting his head, half-leant forward like a lethargic cat to attention. What did that mean?

SkekUng barked out a nameless noise of annoyance, “Hah! Give him to the empty-headed drawer and he’ll turn out a weakling! That would be of use!”

Sarcasm didn’t suite him at all. SkekOk, rather boldly, huffed in retort, “Oh, and would you take him on? All you know is how to hit things, and we have quite enough of that to go around.”

“We don’t need another scroll-brained bore, either.” SkekNa sneered from his right. SkekLa ignored the latter two and sent an indigent loo to the garthim master; reaching out to try and lifted the youth back to his feet again in the meantime. (SkekSept shimmied away from her hands.)

“You just tried to kill him! The Emperor has put them in my care, so –“

The whack of the sceptre against the arm of the throne silenced any protest from the other skeksis. SkekLa ducked her head as if the sound had pained her, but when the Emperor made no comment and simply glared warningly at his subordinates, she resumed her smile and turned back to the blinking youth on the floor.

SkekLa extended her hand again; the youth saw her metallic finger glint. He stared at her, bewildered and unsure, as her fingers encircled his arm and gently but firmly tugged him up. “Come along.” She was beaming, it was such an odd expression – he’d never seen that look before, not even on his UrRu friend. The one slipping nimbly out of his chains, now that SkekNa had begrudgingly unhooked the lock.

He was too confused to argue further. SkekSept looked over his shoulder and cast one last look at the original group. They glared back at him with varying degrees of suspicion, hate, unease, and reluctant interest.

SkekSil waved sneakily behind the crowd.


SkekLa has seen baby birds, once, many centuries ago. A rather ugly bird, small and black with a curling beak, had taken residence in the outside windowsill. It didn’t end well for it, but she’d seen the hatchlings. Drawn them. Fascinating. SkekSept reminded her of that, as he stumbled even now, weeks after his birth. He was staring around the chamber, her quarters and away from the glaring gazes of the others. His UrRu wandered behind him, clutching his hand.

He stared at the ceiling, nervousness, emotion, intense and vigorous on his face. She’d drawn expression all he life, studied it, and she hadn’t seen in a creature since the old times, when gelfings had been more or less their allies.

She tapped his shoulder, lightly, to get his attention. He jumped, wide-eyed. “You both look tired – come, you should rest. The Emperor has decided to leave you be, for now, so have no fear.”

He simply stared at her, and mutely followed her arm to a bench nearby. It wasn’t royalty, but with an blanket or two, it would have to do. The UrRu wandered along, sitting down, as silent as the wall. Really, if it wasn’t for SkekSept making people notice him by proxy, SkekLa would have forgotten the poor thing was there.

SkekSept was shivering, dully, more from nerves than actual fear. He stared at the floor, and she could only guess was torrid thoughts were leaping around.

Very curious. She could barely remember her first thoughts.

The UrRu was asleep, lying behind him and flanking the young skeksis’ sitting body like a stole. SkekSept’s eyes drooped, reluctantly, and he glanced at her a single time. She waved, pleasantly, and his bemusement increased.

He fell asleep, almost against his will. Sitting up. SkekLa nudged him, gently, so that he’d fall onto his side. Oh well. They’d speak tomorrow. When he was less confused.

By the Law - A Skeksis Fanfic
Weeell since me and SkekLa were discussing how funny this scene would be in an out-of context image (I.E Big bird thing is attacking little bird thing and another female bird thing wildly appears between them and almost dies saving little bird thing.) I ended up writing it when she said she'd maybe drawn an image. Then she drew one of SkekHdax and SkekLa so collab or...? Crossover? 
I'm in Dark Crystal Hell when I should be editing. But this is the last one for a while, I'm BEAT. So what is the context? I loathe too much exposition, but since only three-four people have read ALL of the obscure random little drabbles, here's the thing: Two young urskeks travel to Thra to follow their ancestors. Curiosity 'cracks' the cat and the two split to four. Two escape,, not so much. One of them is SkekSept, newly named, and he isn't exactly welcome among his elders just yet.

...I really need to get back to my original stuff, why am I doing these shorts still.

SkekSept and the other 'youths' are 19 in the least, but act much more brainless due to being split not long ago.


Noises. So many. First, was the burning, then the cold. It didn’t come smoothly, it didn’t come quietly, it came like a strip, a tear, being ripped out of comfort, ripped out of someplace warm and peaceful into somewhere cold, raw, so icy it stung the feet. Tough and sound, no sight, no sight. Knees hurt, hands hurt. Knees, hands, arms, they knew them all. Knew them.

They breathed.

Then, voices. Snarling, hisses, noises with words. They stood up, feeling their body rise, the cold floor further away. To the left, surprised howls, yips of fright. Had to leave. Avoid. Get – get –

Step. Walk. Run. They were running. They felt the light change; the heat vanishing from their skin as they entered somewhere else, someplace where their footsteps rang off the walls like chimes.

They’d ran until they’d hit something, and could go no further. Corner. Their mind dragged uneven phrases and letters together, rummaging through the torn mess to put together the deduction. Corner.

Their arms – one, two, three four, crossed over their chest, gripped their head, their face – beak – and they tried to breathe. Blood boiling, hunger inside, wanted – needed to rip, tear, to get the burning in their limbs away.

It burnt them, living burnt.

Their heartbeat strummed amongst the chaos in their head and body, and they huddled in that corner, breathing in and out, until all settled; a simmering pot of thoughts. Words danced experimentally around in their head.

They ran their hand along their arm.

This was an arm.

The floor – stone – beneath them.

Others. Others gone, now. Their noises, same as theirs, but different. Harsher. Their throat hummed with a growl, like a bird. Birds. The image of that thing in their head was...incomplete. Not an image, really, just an idea.

Something small, fast, something they wanted to squash.

They slammed their hand down on the rock, a reverberating crack singing around them. But not so far. The ring only sang in the direction where there was no wall, no rock. They listened.

They curled their hand into a fist and struck the wall. No. The sound didn’t stop at the wall. It bounced off again.

With a hiss, they dragged themselves up. They inhaled through small, beaky nostrils, smelling the damp, the stale air, the...candles.

They started stumbling forward, clicking their tongue on the topside of their beak, hunched, hands curled out as if to grab at the air.


Living was simple, actually. Things that you chew had a strong, obvious scent. Carried by little soft things that shuffled around. Almost as quiet as they did. They didn’t fight. It was fun to push them over and listen to them get back up every time, and then shove them again.

Food smelled strong, and the others were noisy. So it wasn’t hard.

Hide when the others came; their shuffling was loud, and could be heard long before they ever got to their location. They’d been able to poke the little squishy being’s faces, so they knew they weren’t like them.

He couldn’t touch the others, the raspy things. Something nibbling their gut and brain said it was best to stay away.

Sometimes they ‘spoke’. They knew that word, didn’t know how, but they knew it. They understood a little of what the raspy ones – old, said a woe begotten, shredded part of their memory – said. Mostly they didn’t care.

They liked walls. The liked halls. They could find the edges, map the route. Open spaces, they stayed clear. Too far away from a wall meant stumbling and getting lost.

After a while, they learned to climb. All the way up until the wall stopped being a wall and started being a ceiling, and they’d stay there, clutching the terribly complicated carvings and adorning in the stone; crevices and cracks, so many of them, it was easy to grip. Four arms helped.

They liked climbing. And the noises the little pudgy beings made when they pushed them over.

They were clutching the ceiling now, pressed into a curving arch embedded within that stretched down to align with the wall. They’d run their hands along the stone to check. There was a shuffling noise; three of the raspy ones were ambling below. They could hear their breath.

Their own breath made no such nose. It sniffed, silently.


Annoying mewling one. They wanted to kick it.

“I do not see why the Emperor has to take out his temper on us!” This one sounded...higher-pitched than the others. Squeaky, like that mouse they’d caught earlier. “It isn’t out fault the garthim didn’t find the waif!”

“Meagre little creature.” A bloated voice, as if talking was hard, haughty, deeper, something hollow inside making a noise, like a pot – “So small, skinny. Scrawny.”

“And that hair!” Squeaky-one shrieked, scandalised. “Messier than SkekUng’s!”


“Hmm-hmm.” Mewling one chimed, “Even that whelp has better hair than him, even after being born mere weeks ago.”


“Hmph! A comb isn’t too hard to acquire.”

They cocked their head to one side, running their tongue along their beak. ‘Other’ other one. Birth. Why did that resonate in their head so? They didn’t like it. It made being quiet all the harder, forcing down a growl and a hiss. Their nails dug into the rock.

Four shuffling creatures, the fourth was keeping quiet. They didn’t like quiet things.

“Hmph. He may have been useful.” A raggedy voice, shrill, but crackly like glass about to break. A tapping noise, the sing of metal against stone. Had they any ounce of sight, they’d see the gleam of a hook.

They smelled metal, faintly.

“Useful, Indeed.” Mewling one drawled. “But the Emperor’s word is his word.”


“Best not to argue.” Squeaky one said. They were moving away. Further. Further. Gone. They dropped down to the floor in a crouch, tail flopping behind them. With a growl bubbling softly in their throat, they scurried the opposite way.

Through the halls. Tunnels. Dark, close.

They stopped when they heard it. Soft whimpering, not the mewling one, not any of them. Too faint to be near; it was echoing through from one of the other halls. Soft, silly. They wanted to hurt it. It didn’t sound like any of the others. They sneered.

But then, the little shards came cluttering together in their mind. Small one, they’d said, scrawny one. Soft whimpering. It matched. For once, something made sense.

They drew closer. Following the sound. It became less muffled, clearer, they could sense a dead end coming up; damp smell where water collected, the echoes ending far curter than before...

They heard it, sharp and clear. They couldn’t see them, so it must have been...dark.



A quivering breath. Just around this corner –

Something was humming. An absent, empty tune. And then the blind skeksis felt something, something uneasy, their heartbeat felt strong and that directionless noise sounded – familiar. It got right into their head and made their insides curl.

They recoiled and scuttled back, away, away from the small one and – whoever it was with.

They had good ears. The last it heard of them was something that sounded like –


A Dying Sight - A Dark Crystal Fanfic would need to read the other fics to know what's going on here. Started this a while ago, (21st according to my compute, then I left it...) finished it now. The skeksis in this story is blind. Now they're skulking around the castle. I experimented with the idea they'd use echolocation and vibrations to detect where they were, while UrSaat uses touch more. (I.E, hands, cane.)

SkekHdax was born of a minor conjunction, where two urskeks, SeptOnce and Saat Hdax ventured onto Thra, only to be caught unawares by the corrupted crystal there. This takes place before a 'Chamber of Balance' chronologically in the shorts beginning with 'A Mediocre Conjunction'.
Half and Half by What-if-Writer
Half and Half
What would happen if no halfs, not of the same whole, came together? Erbatax, a non-pure urskek, mortal and solid, a combination of UrSaat the Novice, and SkekSept the Learner. The two were split apart from their true forms during a minor conjunction, of which the two urkskeks, SeptOnze and SaatHdax were torn apart. SkekSept and UrSaat clung to each other, while their counterparts vanished...

They found they could combine into a not quite perfect form, called 'Erbatax' - not taking on the names of his halves due to not being a pure urskek. 

I like how happy he looks.
Animation Kick Fail
So, on Pencil, I tried to animated some dude walking and instead made him kick the air and tip backwards. Such is life.


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larry3000 Featured By Owner 3 days ago
Thanks for the favorite! :)
Chernabog71 Featured By Owner Apr 11, 2016  Hobbyist Traditional Artist
What-if-Writer Featured By Owner Apr 11, 2016
Whoa - pretty epic. You're welcome.
Silvermoonlight Featured By Owner Apr 5, 2016  Hobbyist Digital Artist
Thxs for the fav :D
What-if-Writer Featured By Owner Apr 5, 2016
You are welcome :boogie:
leonrock84 Featured By Owner Mar 28, 2016
hey yo 
What-if-Writer Featured By Owner Mar 28, 2016
Yo :la:
leonrock84 Featured By Owner Mar 28, 2016
do you take request 
What-if-Writer Featured By Owner Mar 28, 2016
No sorry :(
(1 Reply)
viki12rocks Featured By Owner Nov 25, 2015  Student Filmographer
Ohh!! I'm so sorry I'm late... but I wish you happy late birthday! !
I hope you had a great day, and for you stay awesome!! :la::dummy:
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